


Give a Little Whistle

by spnredemption



Series: Redemption Road [30]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnredemption/pseuds/spnredemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You don't have to say anything.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give a Little Whistle

**Author's Note:**

> **Masterpost:** **[Supernatural: Redemption Road](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/1552.html)** (for full series info, warnings, and disclaimer)  
>  **Authors:** [](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**dotfic**](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Characters:** Dean/Castiel  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Word Count:** ~1,850  
>  **Warnings:** language  
>  **Betas:** [](http://nyoka.livejournal.com/profile)[**nyoka**](http://nyoka.livejournal.com/) and [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Author's Note:** With inspiration from Bogart  & Bacall.  
>  **Note:** While not a full episode, this belongs to our collection of **[DVD extras](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20dvd%20extras)** — outtakes, deleted scenes, missing scenes, and episode tags/codas that take place before, during, or following an aired episode. This coda follows **[Dreamcatcher](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/29923.html)**.

"Sonofabitch."

"That hunt did not go as well as we had anticipated."

There were times Dean couldn't tell if Cas was kidding or not when he said stuff like that; he was either being earnest in his formality or making a dry joke in a way that would make Alfred Pennyworth look slapstick.

"Yeah, understatement." Dean dropped his duffel bag to the floor of their room, ignoring the protest in his shoulder – it was only a bruise, as he'd told Sam and Cas about a dozen times on the drive back here because they both kept _asking_ him about it.

The pipes in the walls groaned and squeaked as Sam took his shower in his room to wash off cave and monster schmutz. The place they were staying was something between a boarding house and a bed-and-breakfast. No communal bathrooms like with some boarding houses, thank you very much, although Dean had lived with that plenty. The rooms were cheaper than the motels near the tiny town, even if the paint was peeling and he was pretty sure a lot of the furniture was the same that had been there since the place was built in 1907 (according to the owner, a man who was the latest of several generations to run the place).

"We killed the creatures, though." Castiel had a dark smudge across his nose and a trace of something clumping in his hair – blood, perhaps.

Dean found himself staring at the streaks of dirt on Castiel's face, then at the frayed edge of the collar of his t-shirt where it met the hollow beneath his Adam's apple, and then back up to the smudge on Castiel's face again. It seemed natural enough to reach out and rub it away with his thumb.

"Barely," Dean said. His thumb lingered on Castiel's face and Cas leaned his head into the touch before Dean lowered his hand. "We need to work on a better signal system."

"The hand signals have been effective up until now," Castiel said. He put his knapsack on the battered dresser, while Dean watched the taut line of muscle in his arms beneath the layer of dirt and sweat. "I gave you the warning sign." There was no reproach at all in his voice, his tone even and flat. At one time Dean might have felt defensive, but he recognized this was just Cas the tactician, delivering a fact during a debriefing.

Some of the signals they used were things drilled into Sam and Dean's heads from childhood, and some were from a system of Castiel's own creation. It was true that the signals usually worked, except when they didn't and everything went FUBAR.

"My flashlight died," Dean said, and bit back an explanation about how he hadn't realized the batteries were that old. It was sloppy, no matter how you sliced it, and Dean hated being sloppy about this stuff. There wasn't room for sloppy. "Kind of dark in a cave, Cas."

"So you didn't see it, of course. I should also try to remember that you and Sam don't have eyesight like mine."

"Next time," Dean said, dropping onto the bed, "try a bird call or something." He started to unlace his boots.

"I'm not familiar with how to do that." Castiel stood unmoving as he watched Dean.

"What, bird calls? Me 'n Sam can teach you. Meanwhile…next time just whistle."

Castiel still stood there, watching as Dean finished kicking off his boots and began pulling off his socks. When Dean gave him a _what?_ eyebrow lift, Cas answered with a small shrug.

"You don't know how to whistle?" Dean's eyebrows lifted higher.

"I've never had occasion," Cas said, and this time he sounded outright prim, as if whistling were one of those things strictly forbidden in Heaven.

"No, seriously." Dean pushed himself up carefully from the bed and walked over to Castiel, the worn floorboards cool against his bare feet. "You've been on earth for how long and you've never…"

"It never came up," Castiel said, and he bit his lower lip, as if he were embarrassed at being caught out.

Which was weirdly freakin' adorable. Dean moved closer, thinking about how Cas might taste under his tongue, about biting gently down on that lower lip himself.

_Focus_. This was hunting shit they needed to talk about. They had enough problems without letting some minor logistical thing mess them up.

"But, I mean, you've seen movies. You've seen Sam and me do it."

"Yes, but watching is not the same as knowing how to do it yourself."

The floorboards creaked loudly under Dean's weight as he took another step closer. "Okay, it's easy. You just…put your lips together and blow." Dean demonstrated, one long, low note.

Drawing in a deep breath, Castiel pursed his lips and exhaled, only managing a feeble, thin, whooshing noise, cheeks puffing out. His concentration broke, and he staggered a step closer to Dean, who kissed him.

"What was that for?" Castiel asked, skin growing a shade darker.

"I have no idea," Dean said, and grinned. Not that he'd ever tell Cas this, but sometimes he was really, _really_ difficult to resist. "Okay, try it again. This time, don't blow so hard."

Hands curling into fists, Castiel planted his feet more securely against the floorboards and pursed his lips again. He blew gently, this time managing a thin rushing sound. He stopped, his jaw clenching, eyes narrowing. Dean could swear he felt a crackle of electricity up along his arms as Cas pursed his lips and tried yet again. When he failed this time, his expression turned into something that looked a lot like things were about to be smited.

Well, damn, that was just _hot_. Not that he'd ever tell Cas that. Dean reached out, dug his fingers into Cas's hair, and pulled him close. This time he made the kiss last longer, tip of his tongue brushing against Castiel's.

When he pulled away, Castiel was breathing harder, but a crease formed between his eyes. "Why do you keep doing that when I'm trying to concentrate?"

"Um, sorry?" Dean said, not feeling the least bit remorseful.

"It's very distracting!" Castiel said testily, then licked his lips, leaned in, and kissed Dean.

Whatever Cas was doing with his tongue, now _that_ was distracting.

After they pulled apart this time, Dean kept his hands on Castiel's shoulders. "Okay. You can do this. It's way simpler than any of that translation and sigil stuff you seem to do without blinking. You fixed Sam's iPad for him – and Sam is the all-time Mac geekboy champion – so you can do this. Now go like this—" Dean demonstrated, his lips puckering up as he blew. "And the trick is don't blow too hard or too soft. Nice and easy."

Castiel tried it, his lips forming a perfect circle. A faint, breathy whistling sound emerged before he gave up with a gasp. Dean's mouth covered his, swallowing his next breath, as Dean slid his hands up the back of Castiel's t-shirt. His fingers traced over the knobs of Castiel's spine, while Cas dug his fingers into Dean's hair, doing that thing with his tongue again, slow circles around the edges of Dean's mouth, as if he wanted to make sure to taste every corner.

"That was…good," Dean said when they stopped, trying to sound like he wasn't at all out of breath. "You almost had it that time."

"I could just use my powers to make some sort of noise." Castiel suggested, his voice a low rumble that hit Dean in his chest like a bass line from an amplifier.

"No." The word came bitten out sharp. "I mean, we talked about that, you're supposed to save the angel mojo. Why use it if you don't have to?" Dean put his palm against the side of Castiel's jaw. "Unless you enjoy banging headaches and feeling like a truck ran over you," he added, his voice suddenly tight in his throat. He twitched his shoulders, trying not to think of Cas slumped in a chair in that boathouse in Rhode Island, or the unthinkable things that seemed to be reaching for the angel, Castiel's conviction about what it might mean, the nightmares. With a cough, Dean stepped back. "Try it again, like you did before."

With a restrained, patient sigh, Castiel put his mouth in a circle and made another run at it, this time only producing a rushing of air but no whistle. He stopped, did it again, and again, until his eyes went a touch glassy, and Dean actually started worrying Cas might get light-headed, although that hadn't ever been an issue before.

"Whoa, all right." Dean held up his hands. "That's enough practice for one day."

"I don't understand why this is so difficult."

He sounded so determined and disappointed at the same time, with a note of self-recrimination, that Dean was starting to regret bringing it up.

"It's not a big deal, Cas." Moving closer, Dean brushed his nose along Castiel's jaw, against the scratch of his stubble. "We'll try the bird call thing." Dean dipped his head, putting his tongue to the hollow at the base of Castiel's throat, tasting salty, dried sweat and liking everything about the way the tension drained out of Cas, how he seemed to grow more fluid beneath Dean's touch, the small sounds he made, the way his fingers slid up under Dean's shirt to move restlessly over the small of Dean's back.

Much as Dean wanted to keep pursuing that right this second, they both smelled like monster goo and they could be doing this under hot water. "Shower?" he suggested, mouth still against the curve of Castiel's neck.

Castiel swallowed hard. "All right."

Reluctantly, Dean drew away and Castiel shrugged out of his jacket, sat down on the chair and started taking off his boots and socks. Dean walked over to where he'd dropped his duffel. He peeled off his monster-gunk stained shirt and tossed it aside, then bent over to pick up the duffel, moving it closer to the dresser so no one would trip over it or damage the weaponry inside.

That was when he heard it behind him: a low, clear wolf-whistle.

When Dean straightened up and turned around, a rush of heat under his skin – he was not blushing, he did not _blush_ – Cas stared back at him with appreciative heat in his gaze, a lopsided smile and a head-tilt that shouted _why yes, I am awesome_.

"Show off," Dean muttered, before Castiel reached him in two strides, placing Dean's biceps tight in his grip.

They still needed a shower, Dean thought fleetingly, as Castiel pushed him down onto the bed and lowered his weight onto Dean. But what the heck, it wasn't as if they weren't used to the smell of monster goo; it could wait.


End file.
